99 Problems
by Lizzylizzer
Summary: Standalone sequel to 100 Ways Robin's Like a Banana. Robin worries about his relationship with Raven. Starfire worries about her changing relationship with Robin. Raven worries about her dad. Red X hovers ominously. In many ways, an alternate season 4.
1. Chapter 1

_I._

Starfire, stare, down.

Those, she thought, were the words she wanted to connect. But the thought that came out when she connected them was alien. Starfire stared down, Starfire gazes in, Starfire thinking deep...

_Koriand'r inglumspulk_, she would have said, but no one would understand.

She opened one eye, then the other, pupils quickly adjusting in the brilliant light of sunrise. "Raven?" she asked, hesitantly. The other girl was floating next to her, also in the lotus position, but had not opened her eyes.

"Yes?"

"Would you be willing to help me… express a thought?" she said.

"I'll try," replied Raven, sounding a little dubious.

"Or a feeling," Starfire said. "I am unsure. It is that—my eyes were closed, but my mind was not. It was open, and it was staring, down. At something. It was as if… I were looking for a way to jump off the edge of this roof and fall into the river, and I thought that there I would feel more like myself. As if the water would be more natural for me than this air, like one of those delightful fish creatures. But I could not do it. I could not jump anywhere because I could not think of the word. My mind was intruding. I could do nothing."

Raven opened her eyes. Waiting for her to say something, Starfire saw that the morning birds were awakening in the trees, but their wings could not break the stillness of the air.

"You don't mean suicide, I hope," Raven said. Starfire might have thought this was tactless if she had known more about the concept of tact.

"No," she said. "Such a fall could not even bruise me."

"Right. Well, partially, that's what meditating is supposed to help you do," Raven said. "Find your center and settle into yourself. Delve into your mind."

"I see," said Starfire. "So to express this feeling, I may say, I am delving into my mind?"

"Well, I don't know if that's what you were actually doing," Raven said. "It sounds like you were trying to ponder something, maybe. Or trying to contemplate something."

"I am pondering my mind?" she asked.

Raven seemed amused. "Well, you have to be pondering something _in_ your mind, usually," she said. "Whatever it is you're thinking about."

"But I am not thinking about anything," said Starfire.

"You were thinking about jumping off the roof," Raven said, matter-of-factly.

"But that is not what I was… pondering. I was pondering a concept."

Raven shrugged. "Suit yourself."

Starfire was not quite sure what was wrong with her suit. "I believe I am already adequately dressed," she said. Raven said nothing to that for a while. Starfire had nearly gotten back to the state of sleeping she usually reached when doing the meditating with Raven when her friend spoke up again.

"Starfire," she said, "have you ever read Earth books?"

"I have read the Cosmopolitan publication. It contained much useful information on unusual clothing and methods of flirtation with boys."

"That is not a book," Raven said. "Go find a book, okay? Even a popular book might help you with your expression." Her lip curled. "Though if it's at all possible, you should read the classics."

Starfire recalled something she had seen in a university catalog. "The classics are the epic poetry of ancient Greece, yes?"

Raven seemed taken aback. "Yes, though I was thinking more like…" She shrugged. "Goethe. Or _War and Peace. _Or no, you'd probably like the Bronte sisters or Jane Austen better." Starfire wondered if she could perhaps get a notepad, but Raven was musing about something else. "Or maybe you should try writing. A lot of people find that keeping a journal helps them think through things." The hint of a smile played about her lips. "Even that banana list…"

But then Raven cast an inscrutable look—something between being startled and being wary—at Starfire, and she fell silent. Starfire was puzzled, but then she remembered. This banana list was a paper that Raven had written for a class at the Jump City Fine Arts School, almost one month ago. It was called the banana list because Raven had had to come up with one hundred ways to compare Robin to a banana. Strangely enough, this had somehow helped to bring Raven and _her_ boy—no, Robin was not in any sense the boy of Starfire at all, at least anymore—Raven and Robin together. The banana list was their fond remembrance. Or keepsake. What was the word?

"Please, Raven, what is that banana list to you?" she asked. "How would you describe it?"

Raven seemed to tense. "It's nothing, really," she said.

"It is not nothing," Starfire replied firmly. "It is important to you. It is a _glornarg_ for you."

"Well, then, it's a glornarg," Raven said. She folded up her cloak and closed her eyes again, and Starfire knew that this meant she intended to go back to her meditation.

Starfire, ponder, keepsake.

Starfire, contemplate, remembrance.

Suddenly, Starfire felt as if she could not stand being on the same roof as Raven. Her friend Raven, dismissing her own _glornarg_, refusing to acknowledge to Starfire what it was, hiding her relationship with her boy—with Robin behind a screen, like she hid everything else.

"I am hungry," she said, shortly. "I will find something to eat."

**

* * *

**

Inside the tower, her anger seemed only to intensify. It was beyond rational thinking now. Raven had not said anything intentionally provocative. She had just been herself. Starfire would have liked to be herself, too, only her self was stuck on Tamaran, in a different language and a different mind. In fact, Starfire realized, perhaps it was no longer there, either. Perhaps she was not much of a Tamaranean now either. Now she might be a creature of the divide, stretched across a gap, foreign to all eyes, comfortable in no habitat.

She idly grabbed a bag of spinach out of the refrigerator. It belonged to Beast Boy, she supposed, but he would have to take it to the deal. What was that phrase? Oh, no, it was "deal with it." She sighed.

"Deal with it, Beast Boy!" she yelled, uselessly, slopping mustard all over the vegetables. She had half the bag down her throat when a green head poked around the corner, followed by a half-metal head.

"Uh… sorry, Starfire?" said Beast Boy.

"Oh." She blushed. Typical. "No, _I_ am sorry," she said. "I was talking to myself."

Beast Boy seemed to want to let it go at that, but Cyborg did not. "So… why did you say 'Beast Boy', then?" he asked.

"It is nothing! I am all right! All is well!" she screeched, grabbing her salad and dashing out, leaving a trail of spinach leaves behind her. She might have been able to face either one of her friends alone, but the curious—aura—that arose when there were several people—

There was a word for that too, surely. Some expression or colloquialism that Starfire did not know. She once again wondered, why did she not know? She had kissed her—well, it would be of no use to avoid thinking about that, she _had_ kissed Robin, and accordingly she should have had the same grasp of languages that he did. She knew Blackfire had had no such problems. Starfire was not one to leap immediately to the conclusion that something must be wrong with her—for example, she had taken her Transformation entirely reasonably, rationally, and without having run to another planet, after all!

…perhaps Starfire did have a slight history of overreacting to some problems.

She made herself calm down and think about it. The way that Robin would have, calmly, logically, and comprehensively. Perhaps something was wrong with her ability to transfer languages, or perhaps it was just incomplete transmission, and it simply had not finished copying things like idioms. But Starfire had clearly gotten a good grasp of the technical vocabulary Robin had so much of. She understood—even welcomed—discussions about chromium detonators or xenothium. These were things with precise physical analogues, and therefore which translated as directly as possible into her native language. It was only things which did not match up with the concepts Starfire already understood—for example, why having two people discussing a personal issue would be more pleasant than three people. Perhaps she should be proud. On Tamaran, she was not sure the concept of a "personal issue" existed.

The phrase she had been seeking finally bubbled up to the surface of her mind. "A crowd is made up by three," she said to no one in particular. But that was not right. The precise phrase was…

"Three's a crowd," she said. She rolled the apostrophe around her mouth. What noise did it make? She could tell it was a different noise than that of "threes". Or was it? Was that perhaps the paranoia of a foreigner? No, no native speaker would have noticed anything, even if it were there. In a language, it was important to know what to notice, _and_ what not to notice.

But Blackfire knew exactly what to notice and what not to bother with. She had been flawless, as usual. She understood personal issues. She had always been more sinister than she appeared, at least to Starfire, but she was also charming and relatable and she did not have problems with local idioms. So what would Robin do? He would make an experiment to test whether it was something wrong with her ability or just that particular instance.

Hmm.

**

* * *

**

Starfire came back into the room, determined to carry through with her test. One way or another, she would know. Beast Boy and Cyborg were back to playing video games—did they not have other hobbies? Cyborg had said he was thoroughly tired of painting murals and that the T-Car was fully functional, but surely there was something else they could be doing. But now that she was thinking of it, none of her friends had a large diversity of interests. Robin might come the closest—he did a little of everything, but mostly trained.

No. She would stop thinking about her boy—about Robin all the time. It was unseemly. She walked over to the TV and stood by the couch where her two friends were sitting.

"Beast Boy," she said, "I wish to apologize again for my outburst."

"Don't worry about it, Star," said the shapeshifter in an almost Raven-like monotone, not looking away from the screen.

Starfire wrung her hands nervously. "And I also would like to ask you a question, please."

"Shoot."

"How many languages do you speak?"

"Umm... hmm…" Beast Boy continued to make such noncommittal noises for some time, though the fury of the competition did not leave him. It was like the gas released by a warrior in the course of—Starfire realized that that metaphor was probably untranslatable.

"One!" he finally finished.

"He barely speaks that one," Cyborg said.

"Whatever, _Raven_."

"Good," Starfire said, biting her lip. "In that case, here is my apology."

She bent down, gently turned his head, and in one smooth motion kissed him, hard, making sure lip contact was maintained for at least fifteen seconds. She noticed that his tongue seemed to be involving itself as well, and, to be thorough, made sure that she did the same.

As she released him, she became aware that Cyborg was emitting some kind of incredibly high-pitched sound, and that his jaw was somewhere near the floor, and that the TV had a large flashing "FAILURE" sign over the racetrack in the video game, and that Robin, a little bit—increasingly, a large bit—red in the face, had walked in at some point, and that Raven had followed him, and that even she was slack-jawed, and that once again, the toasting appliance had exploded in a flurry of black energy, and why was it always the toaster?

Starfire realized she was panicking. Her combat instincts had appeared. Her hands were nearly alight with green energy—a single twitch might turn them on. She was scanning the others with a practiced eye.

Cyborg seemed to have suffered some kind of complete neural shutdown. Raven was blinking furiously, her eyebrows knitting into an irritated expression that seemed more penetrating than usual. Beast Boy was sputtering. "Huh, buh, whuh, Stuh…" His head snapped up. "_Dude!_"

And Robin was looking completely infuriated, angry—perhaps jealous? Starfire wondered whether that was analysis or hope speaking. And if it were hope, she suddenly thought with a flash of fury, she should crush it utterly, for it was unworthy. Raven had taken her boy—had taken Robin—no, she had not taken anyone. Robin and Raven had chosen each other and that was not something to be violated.

But, perhaps shamefully, she did not crush it.

"Well," Raven finally said, "I'm looking forward to the explanation for this one."

**

* * *

**

Starfire gave the explanation as calmly as she could, under the circumstances.

"…and by this time, I have watched enough television to realize that the Tamaranean information transfer mechanism is also an expression of affection on Earth," she said. "Only belatedly have I realized that the context of this affection is also, um." She blushed. "R-romantic."

"You got that right," Beast Boy said. His eyes were still somewhere rolled into the back of his head, and his expression was somewhere between exhausted and nervous. And perhaps somewhat pleased.

Raven and Robin both issued steaming glares at him.

"Dude," Beast Boy said, again in a lax and unfocused tone. "Why are you worrying about it? She's not your girlfriend."

Starfire felt with another flash of anger that there was surely no need to point that out. She was unlikely to forget that anytime she saw her—saw Robin, or Raven, or any human, for that matter. The growing intensity of Robin and Raven glaring seemed to indicate that they agreed with Starfire.

"Be that as it may," Robin said, "it's inap_pro_priate for you to—" He broke off rather inarticulately with a few struggling grumbles. "To _hold_ it for so long, Beast Boy!" he finally finished, practically spitting the words on the floor. "You're—that's taking advantage of a—that's just—couldn't you and Cyborg go back to—"

Raven seemed to think that this was funny, though Starfire did not understand. As usual. However, as Robin continued to stumble over his words, Raven looked increasingly wary, shooting strange glances at Robin. What was he saying that was worrying her?

"I was the one who prolonged it for that period," she interrupted. "My tutors always informed me that fifteen seconds was a sufficient transmission time."

Robin barreled onward. "No reason for you and her not to if you want to, but I don't see why you'd want to—"

Now Beast Boy was talking, too, and not sounding as light-hearted as usual. "Well, Robin, I don't see how it's any of your business even if it _was_ like that! You've already got the girl you wanted—"

"No one has _gotten _anyone," Raven broke in. "This is a misunderstanding that—" The conversation broke into tumult, and Starfire tried anxiously to process the words, bemoaning how long it was taking.

Wait. Robin thought that Beast Boy was taking advantage of a what? An alien who did not know any better? Beast Boy thought that Robin had the girl that he wanted? That seemed extremely insensitive. And worst of all, Robin could not see why someone would want to—what? Kiss her?

"Excuse me, Robin," she practically screamed, her two hearts leaping around in tandem in her chest cavity. Everyone quieted down, and Starfire plunged on, ignoring her feeling of embarrassment. "Please, what do you mean by that?"

He abruptly glanced up at her. "Nothing! Nothing," he said. "Carry on."

"I wish to understand," she said, feeling irritation welling up once more.

"Look, Star," he said, quietly, in the tone of voice he always used when talking to her, reassuring, competent, and calm. "I'm sorry I said anything. I was just… stunned. What you want to do with Beast Boy is your business. And in this case, it was just a test, right? Of languages." He swallowed, visibly. "So what were the test results?"

There was a pause. Starfire eventually decided to accept this, partially because it was clear from the suspicion Raven was displaying that she was not going to do the same. She could ask her dark friend later what all of it had meant. She cleared her throat.

"Um… well, I have not noted any differences in either my mental processes or my practical speech. This seems to indicate that," she swallowed, "something is wrong with me."

"Not necessarily," Robin said, clapping a hand on her shoulder. That felt most—normal. But it was rare, recently. "For example, it could be that the English in your mind can't be overwritten, so to speak. Or Beast Boy's English is worse than yours."

"Well, that last one sounds like a distinct possibility," Raven said.

"Hey, that's what I said," mumbled Cyborg. Starfire looked at him; he appeared to be recovering with a full system reboot.

"Uncool," Beast Boy said.

Robin started to pace the room. "The next step would seem to be making some trials under different conditions." Starfire recognized and appreciated this tactical mode of Robin, putting aside personal considerations in order to work on a problem. At tense moments like this, which did happen occasionally despite their friendship, it was always a relief. But, she told herself, stop thinking about Robin all the time. He has barely spent two hours with you in the last month.

"If you tried Cyborg—he has a database where he could access languages, theoretically, but I don't know if that counts as his own knowledge of a language," Robin was saying. "Well, we'd have to try it to know. If it does, unless your ability isn't working at all, you should still get some languages. If it doesn't, then, if your ability _is_ working perfectly, it should update your knowledge of English."

She processed the words a second late again. "You mean, kiss Cyborg?"

"We should really try to control that factor, though," Robin went on. "The databases, I mean. It would probably better if you tried it on someone else. Raven knows seven languages—"

Upon seeing a sudden look of death appearing on Raven's face, Robin seemed to realize what he was saying. "No! I mean, don't kiss Cyborg. Or you can. Don't kiss Raven. I'm going to stop talking for at least fifteen seconds."

"I hear that's the regulated time length for all sorts of activities," Raven said. "Look, Star, let's figure this out later. Next time, tell the person before you kiss them."

"I informed him that I was going to apologize," said Starfire.

"That wasn't an 'I'm-sorry' kiss," Beast Boy said.

"Yes," Raven said shortly, "it was an 'I'm-experimenting-on-you' kiss." Starfire wondered why _Raven_ seemed to be annoyed about it now. Perhaps Raven simply did not like positive emotions. No, that was surely not true. She was dating—but in any case, why would she be upset over Starfire kissing Beast Boy?

"As opposed to the 'I'm-experimenting-_with_-you' kind that she'll be having with you?" Beast Boy shot back.

"Don't get your hopes up," Raven said, her voice colder than before, if that was possible. "Star, just ask next time and we'll avoid this entire issue." She swept out of the room. Casting an anxious look at the others, Robin followed her out.

Starfire thought it would be best if she now kept her mind on other matters. "Cyborg, may I try an experiment—"

Cyborg leapt to his feet and dodged aside. "MaybelaterStar," he yelled. "I gotta recharge my uhhhhh shoe. Bye!" He zoomed out of the room.

Beast Boy looked up at Starfire with a strangely hopeful grin.


	2. Chapter 2

_II._

Robin could feel it. Waves of annoyance cutting through the air with every swish of Raven's cloak. He would have been able to tell even without their bond, but in this case, it was pouring right into his mind, defying his usual pattern-based analysis. It was not a kind of feeling where he could tell what was annoying her; it just seemed to pulsate from her mind, a heartbeat later, into his heart, where it didn't become _his_ annoyance, but just a consciousness of hers.

"Raven," he started to say. But he hadn't gotten any farther than "R" when he realized that, while she didn't want to get angry at him, or anyone, the anger was simmering there waiting for someone to stir it up. Dealing with this was not in the manual; this wasn't something you could train for. What should he do now? Put his arm around her? Finish saying her name and try to sooth her? Continue to wordlessly follow her down the hall?

Being unsure, he ended up taking the third option. They arrived, wordlessly, at the door to Raven's room, which slid open at her approach. She walked inside. Time for another dilemma. Go into Raven's room? A terrifying thought at the best of times. But if he wasn't going to go in, what exactly had he been following her for?

Normally, at decision points, Robin would make a list of pros and cons. He decided to try it now.

Pro: Raven might want to talk to me.

Con: Raven might want to yell at me.

Pro: Raven's room is kind of cool.

Con: Raven isn't cool with people being in her room.

Pro: Getting the post-argument analysis over with now?

Con: Might be able to avoid it entirely if I just leave.

"Are you coming in, or just going to stand there?" Raven asked. "You look like a dog in the process of being housebroken."

"Thanks," he said, a little ruefully, walking into the room. "I think I'm more sheepish about this, actually."

To his surprise, Raven laughed—well, chuckled. Once. He could feel the wash of her resentment subsiding slightly. Raven was used to suppressing her anger, he knew, and she'd be unlikely to give into it, but this was more forgiving than he'd expected.

Raven sat down on an uncomfortable-looking chair—normally he would have automatically noted its composition, density, and suitability as a weapon, but this was _Raven's _room. No need for the usual caution. It was only about five o'clock, but Raven's room seemed naturally darkened. Robin followed suit, sitting down on her bed.

"You got pretty angry back there," she said.

"It was really weird." He felt unaccountably nervous. Raven looked at him with her most piercing gaze, and he felt compelled to go on. "And we just gave Beast Boy and Cyborg that lecture about letting the team know about, um, romantic situations last month. So I jumped to a conclusion."

"That's a good habit for a detective," she said. Robin grinned ruefully. Raven sighed. "I thought you might have felt a little… jealous."

Pause. Robin forced himself to restrain his knee-jerk denial reaction. "Maybe," he admitted, "in a way. But it's kind of an old instinct." He shrugged awkwardly. "I'm not," he waved his hand vaguely, "_tempted _or anything. We weren't dating, you know that, only there was a kind of implied relationship, and I didn't really understand it. I've never been good at these things."

Raven raised an eyebrow. "Never? How many times have you had to test that?"

"Not that many," he said, cursing internally. "Look, Raven, don't worry. I won't react like that again." He meant it; he would be prepared.

"But, if you feel that way," Raven started. Robin suddenly realized she was as nervous as he was. She shifted position and looked straight at him. "I know I wasn't exactly thinking clearly when I first—when we—kissed." She forced the last word out, reluctantly, but nevertheless with her usual clarity. "And afterwards, all we said was that we might be more than friends. I do like hanging out with you like this, you know that. But the state I was in after X tried to use that hypnotic emotion-control or mind-control device on me was… an exception. I—We can't _kiss_ again. I… I don't want to risk it, anyway."

She was still facing him, but her eyes were downcast now, and she looked bothered. Robin wasn't quite sure what to say, but Raven went on, quieter, almost inaudibly, in fact.

"If she's your destiny, I wouldn't get in the way of that."

Robin barely restrained a derisive snort. "Destiny?" he asked. "You don't seriously mean that?"

"What's so strange about that?" said Raven.

"Well, if you call something like who I'm dating at any moment part of my destiny, what choices do I have?" He stumbled over his thoughts. "I mean, I can't even control something personal like that? It's part of my predetermined fate? That doesn't compute with the way the world seems to work. And Raven—I understand the thing about … affectionate displays. I wouldn't ask you to"—he felt himself starting to blush and hated it; why were the only words coming to his mind the most clichéd phrases he could think of?—"do anything you, uh, aren't comfortable… doing."

"Watching too many afterschool specials?" she said. "Look, our lives are driven in mysterious ways. We have superpowers—well, some of us do…"

"Thanks," he said wryly.

"…and there are all kinds of ways to disrupt the typical state of reality. Dimensional travel, for Azar's sake. It shouldn't be so hard to accept the possibility of romantic destiny. It's a required component of about half the TV shows out there."

"Well, I'm sure that would be a compelling argument for Beast Boy," said Robin.

Raven had an inscrutable expression in her eyes. "Prophecies are real," she said. "As much as I'd like to stop some of them, it can't be done."

Robin shrugged. "Nobody made a prophecy about this," he said. "And if they did, to hell with them. I believe in this. Us, I mean" (he suddenly felt stupid and clichéd). "I really like you. For a lot of reasons. No prophecy would change that."

She looked like she still disagreed, but she simply nodded and turned to stare out the window. And then, after a pause, without turning towards him, she said, "I really like you too."

Robin quietly walked over and put his arm around her shoulders—and she jumped and looked around the room nervously. It didn't seem like anything had exploded, to his eye, and he said so.

"But still," she said, "even for something so simple as this"—she gestured at his arm—"I have to panic and check if anything's happened before I can relax. It's hard. It's going to be even harder…" She drifted off.

"That's okay," he said. "I like a challenge." He turned to gaze into her dark eyes. "So if you're ready… relax."

And gradually, he felt her doing so, settling into his arm and closing her eyes. "Okay," she said, and slowly, deliberately, stretched her arm around his midsection, too.

**

* * *

**

A few hours later, Robin was still mulling over what he and Raven had talked about. Robin wouldn't be much of a detective if he hadn't realized the underlying meaning behind her words—_there's a prophecy about my future and it makes me extremely nervous._ But if he sorted through the images he retained from their mind-meld, he could find nothing at all about it—not even a casual reference, which seemed to indicate that it was intentionally blocked off. What other dangerous secrets did she have? He couldn't help but wonder.

Though he felt as close to Raven as he did to anyone, there was also a lot he didn't know about her—possibly things that she didn't know about herself, for that matter. What were her plans for the future, living in the Tower forever? Would she even age… or die? Was she religious? How many bananas did she eat a day nowadays?

Actually, based on his weekly trash surveys, he could ascertain that it was somewhere between eight and eleven a week, depending on how many bananas the rest of the team was responsible for. This was a very high figure for Raven with respect to anything except herbal tea (nine or ten bags a week without fail). Even Cyborg—but, Robin chided himself, he was just distracting himself on purpose. Back to the real problem.

His lack of information was highlighted by the fact that he wasn't sure what to get her as a birthday present. Robin usually didn't bother with presents as more than a formality, but this was also nearly their one-month anniversary. So to speak. If they had really been official for a month, and if she was likely to want a present, and if, well, any number of things, really. Wasn't it getting rather close to her birthday, too?

So, a present would definitely be in order, and a well-thought out one, at that. What kind of present could you get a girl like that? He'd already used up most of his good ideas for Valentine's Day—the whole time, he recalled with a faint smile, he'd been feverishly repeating to himself that friends could hang out, even on Valentine's Day, and if Starfire really had a problem with it she would say something, right? And anyway, it wasn't his job to keep Starfire happy…

Only it was, really. It had been, ever since she'd landed and turned from a virile warrior into an adorably confused and very pretty alien girl (who occasionally pulled out the warrior aspect). She had, um, kissed him to start with, which was an attention grabber. And ever since, in every situation, he'd, uh, fulfilled the duties that any guide to a new planet might. Enthusiastically. He couldn't help it; she was pretty, vivacious, kind… like Batgirl—though that was irrelevant, of course. He hadn't left Gotham on exactly great terms with Batgirl. But Star had many of her good qualities while being unique, different, and wonderful in her own way.

On the other hand, for the first few months that they'd banded together, he'd barely even noticed Raven. He'd like to have said that it was because they'd connected on an unspoken level from the start, but unfortunately that seemed to be Batcrap. Well, not entirely—but her powers had led him to distrust her, though at the same time that her evident intelligence (intelligence in a different sense than his or Cyborg's) quickly became an aid and a comfort. But not until recently, really, not until that day when he'd thought first the world and then he himself was insane, when Slade had seemed to come back, and Raven had entered his mind and calmed and helped him—not until then had he realized how much he'd come to implicitly trust her and care about her. And he'd felt bad that his own reliance on her hadn't come with an equal reliance from her. It was strange: Raven relied on no one specifically, but in a roundabout way, she needed _all_ of them the most.

So he'd started making sure he listened to her and reached out to her. And it had started mortifying him, because friendly attention looks and team bonding looks had unconsciously turned into idle musings on how _compelling_ her snarky eyebrow raise was, how funny her comments were, how pretty she was when she put her hood down and smiled… once or twice, he admitted to himself, how well her costume suited her. In every way. Anyway…

…anyway! Robin wasn't one for regrets, when it was possible to avoid them, or navel-gazing (omphaloskepsis, he thought to himself; when you put it like that, it sounded like something Raven might do). And he particularly didn't want to think more about Starfire. He'd been avoiding the subject for the last month—he'd been avoiding _Starfire_ for a month, though he knew it was cowardly. At the same time, it wasn't his responsibility, officially!

Wait, that was precisely the cowardly thing to say—but he didn't know what else to say. He didn't know what he could say. _Sorry for breaking up our nonexistent but implicit relationship, Star, I really like you but I really like Raven too, in a way that makes me feel… different_?

He'd never made a choice; he'd just been pushed along by the flow of events, culminating in that night when Raven, a little exhilarated after warding off Red X's attempt to steal what was essentially a mind-control device, had kissed him. And that was that: Starfire had receded into the distance, somehow, and he didn't regret it yet, exactly, but it was still painful to think about a sad Starfire—and maybe a little dangerous, in the sense of regrets… though that was hardly a flattering thought.

Robin willed himself to think about other things—or better yet, to take action! He was geared for action, and the action item of the moment was a present. For Raven. Hmm…

* * *

"Anyone want to go to the mall?" Robin said as he walked into the ops room. As usual, Starfire was reading a book and Beast Boy and Cyborg were cooking—wait, what?

"What's going on here what have you done with my friends?" Robin said in one breath, leaping into the Titans-go-position, heedless that the other Titans weren't about to follow suit.

"Calm down," Cyborg said, casting an odd look at him. "We finally found a food we could agree on."

Robin's mind raced back to a certain misunderstanding over the nature of Beast Boy and Cyborg's relationship that had taken place a month ago. He restrained himself from making a comment about it with difficulty.

"Mozzarella sticks!" yelped Beast Boy.

"Where'd you get the milk—oh, boy, I don't want to know, actually." Robin shuddered and Beast Boy paled.

"Dude! I do not produce my own food!"

"But that is a most efficient system," Starfire said. "On Tamaran, many species eat their own young—if their young do not eat them first."

Robin, Cyborg, and Beast Boy all turned green… or greener, anyway, in the shapeshifter's case.

"It's actually soy mozzarella... or soyzzarella… made from soy milk," Beast Boy whispered to Robin, "but don't tell Cyborg. I'm going to convert him. He won't know what hit him!"

"This doesn't seem like the best of plans," Robin said. He wished Raven was here to deliver a suitable retort. His mind tried to produce one: _He will, on the other hand, know exactly what to hit. You_. Well, that sounded _kind _of Raven.

"And Star?" Robin came around the couch. "What are you reading?"

She pulled the book away, blushing. "Um, it is unimportant! I-i-it is a Tamaranean collection of _glornarg_ poetry. I will translate for you!" She cleared her throat. "The fragrant drops of morning vomit gleam upon your face. Eat, my little one, eat the wriggling worm of love into your third stomach, digest my fiery conscience until all is nothing and nothing is everything, and once again regurgitate the essence..."

Robin had just managed to see the lettering on the cover, which was decidedly English. In fact, he had rather thought the title started with a "W". But he decided not to press the matter. Anyway, there was only one book in the Tower's library that had that particular shade of wine-colored binding and covers.

…was it creepy that he knew that?

"That's lovely, Star. Poetic," he said.

"Yes, it is by our planetary poet," Starfire said, giving the poet's name, of which Robin caught a 'kch' and what sounded like 'splx'. "But, um," and she chucked the book aside, making it careen into the wall, pages smushing with a rather sick sound, "were you proposing a trip to the shopping mall?"

"We've got everything we need," Cyborg said.

"I can see that," Robin said. His heart was gradually sinking, as he realized that maybe he shouldn't go to the mall alone with Starfire if he were buying a present for Raven. It might cause misinterpretations, from either of the girls... or it might just be a, well, temptation.

Then again, they were friends, right? Right?

_You are still my best friend, Robin_, she had said. _I would not change that for anything._

_I wouldn't either, Star_, he'd said. Her eyes had been glistening, more than usual—or he would have thought so if he were an unbiased observer at the moment, but maybe he'd just _expected_ her to be on the verge of tears and she really hadn't been. It was impossible to separate one's sensations from one's perceptions on the fly, or so it seemed…

He shook himself. It might be a good thing if she went after all. He had barely spent any time with her for the last month, he thought guiltily, and this would let him gauge the—well, the damage. "Sorry, Star?" he said.

"I will accompany you," she said. "What are you wishing to purchase?"

"Um, a present. It's nearly Raven's"—he caught himself before mentioning the one-month point—"birthday."

Beast Boy whirled around. "Raven has a _birthday_? We need to throw her a party! A surprise party! Why haven't you mentioned this before?" He seemed a little tense, to Robin's eye, though the green Titan was clearly trying not to show it. A suspicion grew in Robin's mind—all that provoking and teasing and trying to make Raven laugh… had Beast Boy been trying to…

"…with dark blue balloons and confetti and some skulls," Beast Boy was saying. Robin put his thought aside.

"Beast Boy. I don't think Raven wants a surprise party. She doesn't like surprises."

"Well, you two getting together was a surprise," Beast Boy said.

Robin's eyes narrowed. "We haven't—…Beast Boy, could you restrain yourself from making comments like that?" He took a quick breath. Office romance was hard.

Beast Boy didn't look as if he wanted to restrain himself from doing anything.

"For now, BB," Cyborg said. "Raven's probably a little sensitive about it right now." And with that, Beast Boy subsided a bit.

"Look, maybe you think you know better—maybe you _do_ know better," he corrected himself. "But c'mon. Raven won't be mad at me for throwing a party. It's just the kind of thing I do. So why don't we do it? We can all show Raven how much we appreciate her."

Robin had caught a slight pause between "we" and "appreciate." However, he figured that whatever it was, it would be Beast Boy's business to take care of that. Maybe he simply didn't want to think about what it might mean.

"I agree," Starfire said. "I understand the party is a time-honored tradition, and it would be a pity if Raven were left out. We hold regular events to commemorate our birthdays, after all." Though Robin's were not held on, or even close to, his birthday. Just in case enemies were looking for that information.

"Okay," Robin said. "I won't stop you. Should I pick up anything from the mall?"

Beast Boy shook his head. "I'll go later. Dude, this is going to be great!" His enthusiasm was unfeigned, but a little forced.

Robin nodded. "All right. Star?"

He motioned to her, and she nodded. Together, they went out of the Tower.


	3. Chapter 3

_III._

Starfire had made trips to the shopping mall with Robin before, but they had not felt like this. There was an invisible barrier between them. It would compress if they drew closer. She could touch him, when she brushed against him occasionally, accidentally-on-purpose, and feel the warmth of his flesh bleeding into the smoothness of his costume and then into her own bare arm. The solidity, the pure being-thereness—was there a word for that in English? She could not think of a word for it in Tamaranean—of his physical presence was soothing to her in a way she had not known before she had come to Earth. And yet even when they touched, even if his skin touched her skin, it was an accident, it was uncomfortable, it was damaged by the barrier. Starfire, paranoid, had nearly thought that Raven had cast a real spell that would prevent them from feeling close; but first, Raven would not do that, and second, Robin did not have the same problem. He was shopping merrily and he had noticed nothing.

Well, perhaps not _merrily_. He was actually frowning with concentration, peering at one of the storefronts. He screwed up his eyes, with that intense expression, and applied his intellect to the problem before him—

"Pillow pets," he said, in the same tone that he would have said 'Slade'. "What do you think, Starfire?"

"They are extremely cute," she said. She noticed that her voice felt different as well. It was still bright and cheery, but it seemed to come from nowhere. It was like recording a rock dropping into a deep, broad well, and then playing it in reverse. It made no sense. Where did the rock come from? "I believe," she struggled on, "that Silkie would greatly enjoy having a friend as fuzzy as this. Are they all currently asleep?"

Robin looked confused and then started to laugh in a most familiar way, a way that she had always interpreted as warm and welcoming, a laugh which expressed his care for her and how he would always be here to correct those little mistakes of hers—how he, in fact, found them endearing where she was just mortified… his care for her. Was that different from him caring about her? Was caring about her different from loving her?

Well, events had made the answer to that obvious.

"They're stuffed animals," Robin said. "They're toys."

Starfire felt an unusual anger starting to bubble up. They had toys on Tamaran too, of course! But it would be worse if she had assumed pets were toys than the other way around. Or would it matter to anyone? And yes, they had not been moving, but some animals did not move in hibernation. Furious and useless rationalizations rushed through her head, and they boiled down to this: it was not fun anymore, whether she was pretending ignorance as she sometimes did, or whether it was real ignorance. It was not only not fun, it was piercing her. She felt like she was in an escape pod in the middle of a great dark vacuum, or, for a more Earthly metaphor, in a lifeboat in the middle of an ocean.

_You are still my best friend_, she had said. _I would not change that for anything_.

But though they were best friends, the way in which that friendship worked had already changed. The warm, effervescent feelings she used to feel in her heart when she was with Robin were still there—but there was a heavy leaden barrier between her and them. She could not feel them. She only knew, intellectually, that they were there. The joy and pride she felt in simply being associated with him was twisted, perverted into the shame of this unrequited love, a love which surely everyone around them could see on her face, and which, like a disguised one-way (or was it two-way?) mirror, was simply not reflected in him.

"I see," she said.

Only on this level might changes be perceptible; two months ago, she might have said, without heavy emotion, without even thinking about it, _Oh. This explains why they are so adorable! I would like to buy one, please. Or two._ If she wanted to, she could still say the words, form them with her lips, but what could she say to fill the words up with their meanings? They would be empty shells, incapable of even the slightly-misaligned expression that Starfire typically could—use? Emit? Oh, 'employ', perhaps—let alone the language Robin spoke. Yes, natural English, but on higher levels, human, and for that matter, _Terran_—Earthly in general; and on lower levels, the language of popular culture, and the language of the literature that Raven so loved and that Robin knew too.

Now, long after it could be useful, Starfire had started to study these two languages, too. Popular culture was not particularly a large interest for Robin, not as much as it was for the other two male Titans. On the offed chance that it could be useful, however, she had spent the first thirty minutes of their trip to the shopping mall in a music store, dutifully committing pop songs to mind. She had learned that:

1. One should just partake in a rigorous dancing routine, after which activity everything would be all right; Starfire had filed this away to try on a later occasion.

2. Humans might have a limited precognitive ability allowing them to have premonitions that the current night would be a positive event. Also, they felt the need to repeat this several times, in case, Starfire assumed, they were not understood the first time.

3. American females from the state of California, where in fact the Titans were living, were unable to be denied, having many attractive attributes. Starfire wondered if Raven counted as a 'California gurl.'

4. For certain formal events, it was appropriate to shake one's body about in a random motion approximating that of a certain brand of picture, Polaroid. Upon further investigation, Starfire found that this referred to a kind of instant photo which could be taken and developed immediately. This technology seemed remarkably outdated to her.

And more, of course. As for her reading, Starfire had barely gotten thirty pages in. It was slow going, but not uninteresting. She had felt, however, _ashamed_ again when Robin had seen her reading the book yesterday. It was either because she, again, no longer wanted Robin to see her struggling to fit into her adoptive home, or, possibly, because she suspected Robin might think she was trying to become more like Raven. For that matter, perhaps Starfire _was_ trying to do so.

Robin was looking at her. "Do you want to get one?" he asked. His voice sounded cautious.

"I thank you, but no," Starfire replied. "Silkie has displayed no interest in the inanimate objects, fuzzy or otherwise. Except for consumption."

"But you don't want one?" It _was_ the type of thing Starfire would normally purchase. Though many things fell under that category. But she did not want to paper over her current tumultuous but strangely clear emotional state with a distractingly cute object, and if the time came when she did, there would be plenty of such objects at the Tower.

"I have sufficient pillows and pets, individually." She paused, feeling a vague sense that saying more would simply reveal more to his keen eye. Still, she went on. "Additionally, it seems to me like it is more of a gimlet than anything." He looked puzzled and she realized her mistake. "Gimmick. A gimmick." The hint of laughter now reaching his face, again, was pushing her buttons as before—she could barely see him laugh, for when it was because of her, she felt it was more _at_ her than it had been before; but when it was not because of her, she began to feel angry at whoever _could_ make him laugh. Utterly illogical; and the illogic fed back into her irritation.

"It is not the big deal," she said, severely.

"Of course not," he said. But the smile was still playing around his lips, and she was now definitely frowning.

"Please do not laugh at me," she said quietly. To even her surprise, her voice was low and almost menacing. Hearing it would call up primal memories of predation, if indeed such things existed. Robin frowned and the pretense of normality faded.

"I'm sorry, Star," he said. "I didn't mean to be offensive."

There was, however, a definite strain now in his voice. He was stepping on top of the eggshells with her. It was not that they were suddenly strangers to one another, but rather as if the memories of the last three years had been wiped out but the acquaintance and friendship remained—as if they both knew they had been friends and extremely close for so long, but that they could not remember _why_.

And when she did think about _why_, she could not find reason in it. He had been the first person to welcome her to Earth, but Raven had been the first one to understand what she was doing. It had been a formality that Robin had first approached. Had they ever talked seriously about anything—_seriously_, that was, intellectually, like Raven, rather than emotionally, like Starfire? She suddenly felt that all her concerns with feelings—her loneliness, her resilience, her caring—were facile next to the possibility of talking _seriously_ about a worldview or the future or, indeed, books that he might be reading. What did her feelings signify? Were they not simply full of sound and fury, as she had once heard Raven say?

Yes, they were simply full of astral dust and vacuum. There was no solidity there, and so, after years, they could find themselves standing on a platform of friendship which had appeared from nowhere.

"What're you thinking about, Star?"

She blinked and quickly invented something. "I am thinking about getting a journal," her lips said.

Except that was somewhat true. She was taking the other advice Raven had given her seriously (and why should she not? Raven had been _successful_ with Robin where Starfire had merely—) so she might as well consider starting the journal as well.

"Oh, really?" Robin rubbed his chin. "Hey, that's a pretty good idea. Let's go in there." He pointed to a stationery shop, and Starfire followed him. Again, life was different: unlike usual, she found no pleasure in his compliment, instead thinking, _of course it is a pretty good idea. I originally heard it from Raven._

Once they got inside, Starfire realized the situation was worse still: he had thought that it would be a good idea for a present for Raven. This was simply rubbing in it. (Rubbing what in what? Starfire did not understand this phrase.) He seemed surprised, even, when she followed him away from the hot pink and green heart-covered diaries with locks on them, into the section with professional-looking dark leather-bound journals. But he did not say anything.

She saw it before he did: a dignified, somehow mature book, with a smooth black cover and subtle silver lettering saying 'Journal' on the outside. It smelled like the tea leaves Raven was always concocting a beverage with. It seemed to exude reassurance to Starfire. It seemed to say, _We will figure out what to do for the future_. She instantly wanted to buy it, but as Robin glanced over, his eyes followed the path of hers and alighted on the journal, and she knew he felt the same feeling.

"That's the first thing in here that looks like she might want it," he said, edging around her. Quickly, she picked it up herself. He came closer to her and she felt him brush against her hair in a whispery way, looking at it over her shoulder.

"It is most pleasing," she said. "I would like one of these, too."

Robin peered around. "It doesn't look like there are any others," he said. They both stared at the journal in her hands for a halfway-tense moment.

"Well, you should take this one," Robin said. "You saw it first. And I can get her a different present. I'll ask the manager if there's any more of these."

He stepped away, and Starfire felt vaguely disappointed. A real fight might have cleared the air, she thought. Or was it "cleared air"? Or maybe "passed the air"… Oh, she recognized the other phrase from somewhere. A real fight might have passed gas?

She shook herself. What was she thinking? No, a real fight was not a good thing. What could she possibly hope to come from it? Clarification, perhaps, but little good. She looked down at the journal, and felt reassured again. At least, Robin was still the same in his politeness and kindness.

Approaching the desk, she found him talking to the manager, sounding a little bit heated.

"This isn't an antique store," he was saying. "What exactly is a one-of-a-kind manufactured item?" The manager seemed not to be old but was already balding, wearing what Starfire judged to be an ill-fitting white shirt and red tie, a little above the optimal weight for a human, and looking very much as if he did not desire an altercation with a superhero.

"It was a special order," he said. "But it was never picked up, and it's been almost a year, so we just put it up for sale."

Robin sighed. "Can you order another one?" he asked.

The manager looked down at a computer. "We can try," he said. "I'll try calling the supplier. It took nearly eight weeks last time. I remember there was some trouble with the specifications."

Robin did not look enthused to hear this. "Fine," he said. "Well, if it happens this time too, when there's trouble, you know who to call."

Starfire was thinking that she could let Robin buy this diary for Raven as a gift, and she herself could take the second diary when it came in. But somehow she did not want to. It was partially because she did not want to wait eight weeks, but that would not be a large hindrance: instead, Starfire felt as if there would be no second copy, and that it would be more special for her than Raven anyway.

"I will take this, please," she said, holding the diary up, and staring at the manager's name tag, "Jason." Robin looked at it fleetingly, but turned aside. It seemed to Starfire that, as the manager was checking out the diary, he was also looking at her as if sizing her up. This was a glance that many Earth males seemed to direct towards her—Starfire assumed that they were being combat-ready, like a Tamaranean would—but here it seemed more familiar than usual. She wondered what it was about. His gaze shifted to Robin, and belatedly, she remembered something Beast Boy had once said.

_We're celebrities, Star!_ he had exclaimed, one day perhaps nine months ago, when the two of them were watching TV and the news came on. Beast Boy did not normally watch the news, but he did so occasionally, especially after the Titans had engaged in a public fight with bad people. Indeed, the report had featured a video from that morning of the Titans battling a villain called the Muffin Man, and a description of the fight, their eventual victory, and the damage. But right afterwards, they had showed an image which Starfire recalled now with mortification.

At the conclusion of the battle, Starfire had said, "Even Tamaranean pastries do not fight back with such tenacity," and Robin had grinned and said that personally he had had enough of Tamaranean pastries at the wedding banquet that they had recently returned from. Starfire had read into this a meaning which might not have existed, and said, "Oh! I promise I will not insist on having them."

After which Robin had blushed but not seemed entirely displeased. And the whole incident was caught on tape. The announcer, with practiced coyness, after the video had played, had said something about "young love popping up in all the most unexpected places" and Starfire had sunk into the sofa, miserable with embarrassment.

_That's what celebrities have to put up with_, Beast Boy had said, flashing a toothy grin at the screen. _The public wants to know about your love life!_

Her friend had seemed very confident at the time that Robin _was_ in fact part of her love life. Or the sole part of her love life. But she eventually decided that matters could be worse than having her affection celebrated by the city which had adopted her.

Was she wrong to have taken events like this as a good sign for her? Was she wrong to have thought that she had a claim on him? Was she wrong to have believed that, without ever having had to spell it out, she had become his girlfriend, and that his smiles were special for her, and that the bountiful floral arrangements which decorated other houses in the city would eventually be for her, from him? Even the general public—even this placid and rotund man, the manager of the store—seemed to expect that she and he would be the item—already _were_ the item. In fact, they had thought it _inevitable_. With this public acceptance of their unspoken relationship, Starfire had felt solidly on course, guided by an auto-navigation system, like a high school student dutifully applying to college without any knowledge of why it had to be done except that _it had to be done_.

She felt suddenly that her thoughts had been circling this same issue for days and weeks now, and that it had only been spreading. Namely, her doubts about her previously well-defined role in life had been rising; doubts about her language, her surroundings, and now her feelings of friendship and love. It was as if—it was as if… as if the fog storms of Stybbulon II had settled into her mind, and her life, even with people next to her, was solitary and confusing, full of incompleteness and inabilities, with more things continually being unsaid than said. General concepts were half-corroded glue, barely holding together different views of the world that were irreconcilably separated in reality. The concept 'friend' meant different things to different people, yes: for example, some people thought friends helped you no matter what, while others thought that friends would not be afraid to disagree with you if they felt strongly.

But even the concept 'girl' meant something different to Starfire than to anyone else on this planet. It meant _her_ herself, primarily, and every other female on the planet secondarily, and it meant talents and flying and starbolts. But to others it might mean prettiness, petulance, confusion, passive-aggression, giggling, cliques, concern with shoes, and so on. Or for Robin, it might mean frowns, sarcasm, mystery, magic, and books. And she had no idea about all the other tiny things it did not mean to her that it did to others. What she did know was that it could never mean the same thing to them.

"Well, there's always chocolate," Robin was muttering, looking out the window at the other storefronts. He turned to Starfire. "Any other ideas?"

"I do not know what Raven likes," she said.

"But what about _girls_?" he said, and in that instant Starfire felt as far away from him as she had ever felt from the planet Tamaran.


	4. Chapter 4

_IV._

Robin had gone to the mall with Starfire many times before, and wary as he was of changes, he thought as he settled in that it wasn't so different after all. They were wandering the walkways anonymously—or rather, in uniform, but mostly left alone, despite the usual crowds. It wasn't surprising: in general, despite their celebrity status, people tended to leave the Titans alone at the mall except for gawking—at least, they did so after one particularly nasty incident involving Raven, a furniture store, and a Mexican restaurant.

But Robin turned his attention back to Starfire. Yes, it seemed like there was less spring in her step, less gawking at the display windows, but that could be entirely his guilty imagination… she was still herself, right?

He decided the best course of action would be an experiment. As they passed a stall full of 'pillow pets'—in the back of his mind, he noted down that he had seen ridiculous ads for these products, which were both stuffed animals and pillows, apparently, and that they were ninety percent polyester, ten percent cotton, made in China, machine wash—he drew her attention to them nonchalantly, as if he were considering a purchase.

"Pillow pets," he said. "What do you think, Starfire?"

She looked at them briefly. "They are extremely cute," she said. Her tone was much the same as ever, which reassured him. But on the other hand, her eyes hadn't lit up as he'd thought they might—and then she actually looked _away_ from them. Results: inconclusive, which was worrying.

"I believe that Silkie would greatly enjoy having a friend as fuzzy as this," she was saying. "Are they all currently asleep?"

Robin wondered what the hell she was talking about—oh, the pillow pets? He chuckled. It was hard to think anything was wrong with Starfire as long as she kept saying irredeemably cute things like that, completely innocent and completely wrong things. What had he been thinking, anyway?

He tried to explain gently, as usual. "They're stuffed animals. They're toys."

But then, again, another mixed message. She turned and looked at him, and her eyes were opaque, almost milky, if that was possible for pure emerald-green eyes. She was beautiful, no question about it…

An image of Raven with an eyebrow raised popped into his head. Yes, maybe these weren't appropriate thoughts to be having, but he couldn't help it, exactly: one couldn't control one's thoughts. And these thoughts, these feelings of caring and protectiveness, and yes, maybe attraction, too, always arose when Starfire misunderstood things.

"I see," she said. And then nothing else. Surely that wasn't normal. Starfire usually grinned and asked for clarification, or would have continued on after an "Oh", or _something_ more than that—that—that _Raven-esque_ answer, and that faraway look in her eyes.

Now was the time to start staring at her for any hints he'd overlooked before. No reason to suspect this wasn't the real Starfire. All the minute body marks he'd noted down were present. But her mind was clearly not all there. The vacant, inattentive look in her eyes was unmistakable. She wasn't staring at anything, she was staring beyond every storefront and stall. And yet she loved the mall, said it reminded her of the market at home. Hmm, home… could she be missing her home? It wasn't impossible; despite the occasional brutalities of life there, it was still her home, right? But she could have gone back for a visit without a large problem.

His mind shifted back to his experiment with the 'pillow pets.'

"Do you want to get one?" he asked carefully.

"I thank you, but no," Starfire said, and to his dismay, he found even conversation didn't seem to be disrupting her torpidity. "Silkie has displayed no interest in the inanimate objects, fuzzy or otherwise. Except for consumption."

He probed again. "But _you_ don't want one?" he asked.

"I have sufficient pillows and pets, individually," she said. A brief pause; Robin knew this had never been her philosophy. But she did seem to be paying more attention now to the conversation. Her gaze was now squarely on him. "Additionally, it seems to me like it is more of a gimlet than anything."

Gimlet? That wasn't exactly the metaphor _Robin_ would've used, though maybe this was an example of how Starfire was really an alien—

"Gimmick," she said. "A gimmick."

Robin started to laugh again, but he instantly felt that Starfire wasn't happy, that she wasn't even _distant—_she was actually, if mildly, upset…

"It is not the big deal!" she nearly shouted at him.

He tried to soothe her and repress his smile. "Of course not," he said. But she wasn't satisfied with that.

"Please do not laugh at me," she said, and the tone she said it in made Robin's battle instincts rise. He nearly cycled through the first three items on his list of plans to defeat Starfire if the contingency were necessary before realizing with horror what it was he was thinking. He restrained himself, and decided that to push down the small amount of irritation that he was feeling. It wouldn't be worth it to get emotional about this. (He abruptly saw the Raven-image in his head nod once.)

"I'm sorry, Star," he said, though he personally wasn't sure if he had hidden the stiffness properly. "I didn't mean to be offensive."

Her posture relaxed slightly and he caught a faint nod, but no other acknowledgement. The resemblance to Raven increased in his mind again. Her expression was faraway again, and after a minute or so of silence he broke in:

"What're you thinking about, Star?" He kept his tone level and amiable.

She blinked, and Robin realized that the next statement would be a lie or a partial truth. "I am thinking about getting a journal," she told him.

Hmm. Well, that wasn't totally out of the realm of possibility—Starfire might be the type for a diary—but after what had come before, it did come as a surprise. Still, if she was going to pretend everything was normal, he could hardly reject that.

"Oh, really?" he said. And then he paused. Actually, a journal sounded like something Raven would like—again, Starfire behaving strangely like Raven, but he would consider conclusions about this only once all the evidence came in, i.e., once the trip was over. Maybe this place would actually be productive. Though the fight—(or was it a fight?)—with Starfire had put it out of his mind, the mall was a drearily hopeless place, in general, for a present for Raven. From a dearth of blue clothes to the completely unmagical nature of all the gems and jewelry, from the bookstores with rows of shelves of romance novels to the closing of the specialty tea store—everywhere you looked, Raven and the mall were entirely at odds.

"Hey, that's a pretty good idea," he said. Looking around, he spotted a likely-looking store, with varieties of pens, brushes, paper, books, and cards in the display window, though it was inexplicably called 'Dojo Stand Stationery' for some reason. He supposed the owner might be Japanese, happening to get the word order wrong because of the—but he was probably just stalling with details again.

"Let's go in there," he said, pointing to Dojo Stand.

About ten minutes' search revealed that Dojo Stand was extremely nondescript, as you'd expect from a small local stationery store. Starfire was strangely aloof to the pink things she normally liked, and when he happened to glance up, he saw her staring at a large, smooth black journal which simply radiated calm. But being calm, for Robin, was almost the same as being nervous; it meant something unusual was going on. He looked at the book more closely. It was large for a book, about ten by eight by two inches. The cover was cured black leather and the letters 'Journal' glittered out—was that real silver? How unusual, this must be expensive. Robin felt as if it was an artifact mysteriously surfacing from his past, maybe from the Batcave, maybe that it was _Batgirl's _(why did he have that feeling? How did it make any sense?) and he had the urge to take it and hide it from other prying eyes.

"That's the first thing in here that looks like she might want it," he said, approaching her. Somewhat protectively, she picked it up, and Robin knew what was coming.

"It is most pleasing," she said. "I would like one of these, too."

Robin diplomatically looked for another. "It doesn't look like there are any others," he said. His eyes didn't want to leave the journal—_come on, Starfire,_ he thought, _take anything else in this store. Raven's the one who's hard to shop for, not you. You love everything!_

But with an effort of will, he tore himself away. After what he still uneasily pictured as a _threat_ coming from her, he wanted to make a concession.

"Well, you should take this one," he said. "You saw it first. And I can get her a different present. I'll ask the manager if there's any more of these."

He went over to the register, where a balding man with ill-fitting clothes and a nametag, 'Jason', was bustling around. Actually, Robin thought the man looked rather odd, furtively glancing up at him and Starfire every now and then, and looking really uncomfortable in his suit—but that wasn't abnormal for people encountering the Teen Titans doing something like shopping in their store.

"Are you the manager?" he asked.

"What can I do for you?" the man said in a squeaky voice.

Robin pointed to the diary, at which Starfire was staring fixedly. "Do you have any more of those in stock?" _What was this, the questions-only game?_

"Does that look like it comes in stock? That book is one-of-a-kind."

Robin frowned. "This isn't an antique store. What exactly is a one-of-a-kind manufactured item?"

"It was a special order," the manager said. "But it was never picked up, and it's been almost a year, so we just put it up for sale."

Robin sighed. "Can you order another one?"

"We can try." The man's voice wasn't calculated to give hope. "I'll try calling the supplier. It took nearly eight weeks last time. I remember there was some trouble with the specifications."

Well, there went one gift idea. He might as well hope there would be a follow-through, though. "Fine. Well, if it happens this time too, when there's trouble, you know who to call."

The manager nodded with a rather quirky smile. Starfire, who had come up a while ago, now held up the diary, apparently oblivious to Robin's dismay. "I will take this, please, Jason," she said. Robin turned away—it was strange that seeing this transaction sent such a pang through him. Somehow, he'd felt this book _belonged_ to Raven.

Robin looked over at the manager and felt a sharp annoyance. The manager was doing more than checking out the diary, he was also checking out _Starfire_. His eyes were rolling up and down her body like little fish—and equally slimy. It was, he told himself, brotherly enough to be enraged that this bastard was undressing his friend with his eyes, and never mind the arm he wanted to put around her.

Then, Robin saw the man's gaze shift to Robin, and a chill passed through him. It _might_ still have been a glance of, ah, sexual interest. He'd been mistaken for it often enough—Raven would have said it was something about his fruit-like uniform, no doubt. But this seemed colder, appraising…

Robin put the feeling aside. This was an innocent trip to the mall, after all, there were no enemies on the horizon, and he was on edge because Starfire had nearly sounded like she wanted to hit him a few minutes ago. He looked out the display window, scanning the other stores, mind back on a present for Raven.

"Well, there's always chocolate," he said. Starfire had her book in a plastic bag now. "Any other ideas?" he asked her.

"I do not know what you are aiming to purchase." Toneless, cold, very un-Starfire. He internally sighed. Clearly, she was out of sorts. But Robin couldn't think of a single thing to do about it. This was going to be a long day.

"But what about _girls_?" he said, echoing a common male whine. "What do they like?"

"I do not know what Earth females like either," she said, walking out of the store. "You are of the same species. Should you not be better acquainted?"

He followed her out into the open space of the mall, automatically noticing the lay of the land. They were on the second floor, which mostly consisted of relatively narrow walkways lined by glass railings, on the other side of which were open spaces revealing the first-floor food court.

"They seem like a different species sometimes," he told her. She didn't seem particularly amused, though.

"To the best of my knowledge," she said archly, "they like very similar things as do male humans. They like to appear attractive to potential mates, to possess things that others do not, and to increase their physical comfort."

"I was thinking more specifically," he said. "You're Raven's friend."

"_You_ are her boy friend!" She _hurled_ the words at him and they smacked him in the gut like a cannonball. She stared at him without letting her glance go, her chest heaving unusually. "It is evident that you know what she likes better than anyone else does. It is none of my concern, so please, do not include me in it!"

Robin stared at her, and there was a long, pregnant moment, before she turned to the railing and—tripped? No—Robin could tell that she'd been trying to fly but for some reason it hadn't worked—she shrieked as she instead jumped nearly three feet in the air and stumbled over the railing, pitched headfirst towards the ground, and Robin was grappling to the edge and catching her before he knew it, to the sound of gasps from the milling crowd surrounding them.

She felt light and warm in his arms, emanating heat, feeling solid, the side of her where his hand was gripping her was pulsing, and he was thinking about how smooth and textured it would be if he hadn't had his gloves on. No—he forced himself to think about something else; he stared into her eyes, which were finally clear and green….

Then, they had landed on the ground, on the first floor. Everyone around seemed to be pretending nothing had happened, though Robin still felt their furtive glances. He released her as soon as he could. The clarity in her eyes had disappeared by the time he looked at her again.

"I thank you," she said.

"No problem." He didn't know how to respond to her outburst, either, so he said nothing. He felt defeated and wanted to get back to the Tower.

"Is there anywhere else you wanted to go?" he asked.

"I am adequately provisioned," she replied. Whether or not she was lying, he barely cared anymore. He wanted to get away. The experiment had been a success, but he felt none of the usual pleasure. All he felt was disarray.

* * *

"…and do you have _any_ idea of what I'm supposed to do about it? I'm frankly worried," he was telling Cyborg. "The tensions in our team have never been this high. Or if they have, they've never looked so—irreducible."

Cyborg frowned at him. "Well, if you wanna know what I really think…"

"Yes," Robin said fervently. "That is exactly what I want to know."

"Then you shouldn't have switched," Cyborg said. Robin was about to protest, but Cyborg lifted a finger. "Or you at least shouldn't've made it _look_ like you switched, even if you didn't."

"I think you're looking at this in teenage drama terms," Robin started.

"That's what it is, Robin! Take all the weird stuff away and you've just got that. You knew she had a crush on you—how could you _not_—"

"It's a lot harder from the inside!"

"That's what she said, but…"

"Oh, great. Really great," Robin said. "_You_ might not have girl problems, since you can just date whatever evil sorceresses you happen to come across at the HIVE Academy…"

"Relax," Cyborg said. "I feel bad for you, I do."

Robin grumbled.

"Anyway," his friend went on, "I'm not gonna hide the facts from you. To her, it must look like you abandoned her. Even to me, it seems a little like that." Robin sputtered. "And it _is_ taking a toll on the team. Not in terms of trust, just basic civility. No one knows what to say."

Robin sighed. His eyes felt heavier than ever. "So what do I do?"

"Well, I don't know," Cyborg said, stepping out of his bathroom wrapped in a towel. "But you could start by letting me shower in peace."

"Sorry," Robin said hastily, exiting.


	5. Chapter 5

_V._

Raven had been trying to quiet the intense pounding in her heart for some time now. The act of trying to be calm seemed to be making this situation worse, though. Now she was hearing his voice. On different frequencies, too. Like the crystal tower in Azarath, vibrating constantly intensely painfully strings pulled of her insides pulled with voices like crystal purely transmitting into her not listening mind but it was worse that way, then they just entered the bloodstream without even being diluted—SO TO SPEAK! So to speak. So, to speak:

_You're mine, Raven_. (Strong, forthright, Robin-like, except for – the tone was rough – there was an undercurrent of threat, not endearment.)

_just listen to me no more fighting, no more disputing raven_ (A low hissing tone which took a breath every ten seconds or so and then went back to hissing.)

_I am the God of your World and you are my Messenger. Before they were You Are. I Am. Go and spread the word. Go and open the gates. Smash their temples._ (Stern, higher, overtones, commanding, loud.)

_Don't worry; rely on the others; let them take care of it; forget, forget; let _him _take care of it_; (False but sweet, even knowing that something was a lie didn't make you want to hear it less; in the moment one could inhabit both sides, and know that you were being lied to and like the lie, believe the lie.)

Last year, she had been afraid too, but in her heart she'd thought she would have this one more year. She'd even begged for it, prayed and wished for it, and she wondered if that had sealed the doom now, like another famous procrastinator—_Now might I do it pat_—

Six months ago, she had decided it might never happen, she was as far away from it as she needed to be, and it would cause unnecessary worry to tell her friends. It might happen the year afterwards, for that matter. It wasn't worth worrying about.

Three months ago, she had convinced herself that even if it _was_ worth worrying about, if there was a way to stop it, she could find it without telling everyone. What good could they do, anyway? And furthermore, there was no reason for it to happen now. She'd escaped him; he didn't know where she was, she'd kept Azarath safe, even if she'd brought her troubles here.

One month ago, she had distracted herself by, er, kissing one Robin firmly on the lips in a moment when she was in the peaceful eye of a storm of emotional tumult. She had forgotten for a time anything about it. She was just Raven, teenage superheroine. With a truly, completely cool dork … significant other. Special friend. Whatever.

Two weeks ago, she had gotten angry with herself for forgetting, genuinely forgetting, that she had two weeks to go. She had blown up the toaster, and it was intentional. Boy, was it intentional. She spent the week alternating between impassively pretending it was fine and quietly ripping some of her old poetry into pieces, ever more microscopic pieces, in her room. Robin had noticed, but with characteristic tact, he hadn't said anything but had started bringing her tea at the times she usually would want it. It was almost miraculous, and at those moments she felt really, truly happy—and yet angry at the same time.

One week ago, she had blown up the new toaster. Robin seemed to be jealous about Starfire, and Raven wondered, not for the first time, if she'd been selfish and mean, _chaining_ Robin to her—to a half-demon, to someone who was going to end the world (and probably sooner rather than later!—)—

Four days ago, she had decided what did it matter, anyway, if the world was going to end, and pushed it out of her mind.

Three days ago, she had decided to tell Robin everything. Then she hadn't done so.

Two days ago, she had done the same thing.

Yesterday, she'd once again, done the same thing. Worrying about Robin and what he would say or do was a good proxy to not worry about herself.

But as the hours rolled down, she couldn't stop seeing fire and demons everywhere. Her physical reactions felt like they'd been sent through an amplifier and then a torture device. When she'd gone down into the kitchen to make tea (Robin wasn't here?), Beast Boy's every twitch made things around her explode, and he was twitching a lot.

So she retreated into her usual comfort: meditating. Pushing the demon down as deep as it could go, slamming doors in its face, burying it, shoveling dirt into the hole, _set him breast-deep in earth, and famish him; there let him stand, and rave, and cry for food_…

The clock rolled over to midnight and Raven started to genuinely panic.

What if it was happening _now_? Every sense was at full alert. She heard the rushing of the waves far below. She felt like she could see the back of her closed eyelids. She smelled the incense strongly, as if it were burning her nostrils. She felt the rubbing of her cloak against her back. And she tasted… her mouth tasted like ashes, like all the rubber in the world was in her mouth.

She listened to the echo of nothing in her room. Nothing sounded like rushing everything. Water down below. Air through the pipes. Flames of candles like a soft hum.

Nothing. She opened her eyes. Her room surrounded her. Alcoves, shadows, statues, books, books, books. Her hand mirror on the bureau. The chest with the book with the dragon, another horror stored deep away within, horrible, lying creature, even worse because he pretended to care—but still better than her. Better than her. She'd lied by omission. She'd endangered her friends—was even now endangering her friends—on a wing and a prayer. She'd pretended she… loved them… loved _him_… She was worse than Terra, and she wasn't going to say any—

"_Raven!_" The door burst open and Beast Boy stood there, wide-eyed, and Raven knew the worst had happened, somehow, even without her knowing, her mere presence had brought disaster and demons. She whirled around, powers already igniting, panicked.

"Where is it?" she nearly shouted.

Beast Boy looked a little confused. "You… know?"

"Of course I know!" Raven's heart was pounding, her eyes glowing and pulsating. "Where?"

Now the green Titan was more than a little deflated. "Well… I mean, it was gonna be in the ops room. But I don't know what the point is if you already knew."

Raven stared at him. "What are you talking about?" she asked. Suddenly, his ears perked up. If she'd had more presence of mind, Raven would no doubt have noticed how poor of an actor he was, but she was on full alert and expecting demons.

"Uh. Nothing. Never mind. Come on!" he said, nearly squeaking with excitement. By this time, Raven had realized it wasn't a hell-creature. Not yet. Whatever it _was_—well, it was, she assumed, something typically silly of Beast Boy—but the sense of relief was so great that she willingly, almost unintentionally, followed him into the hallway, him clanking down the corridor, her sweeping noiselessly. He looked like he was going to talk to her at several points, but broke off into little nervous-sounding giggles.

The walk to the ops room had never felt longer, but then, this day was the longest of her life… _nothing will happen don't worry about it just forget and quiet down and listen to him look at what he's feeling_…

Raven's empathy had helped her many times to locate someone by their feelings or to sense a lie. But right now, feeling Beast Boy's exuberance was almost painful—and it always was exuberant, no matter what the actual feeling was; it was glee rather than happiness, panic rather than concern, rage instead of anger. Right now, whatever was bubbling in him was a mix of that nervousness, glee, and some other things, poking out at her.

She knew what those other things were. They were—his feelings for her. They weren't easily hidden feelings, whether they were a crush or real affection or even love. They circled around, blowing about like leaves in the wind. The feeling of a gust, a torrent, was halfway to overwhelming at times.

His nervous affection. His eager attempts at achieving coolness. His kind-spirited desire to see her happy. His excitement whenever he encountered something that might entertain her (and which usually ended up annoying her). And ultimately, his commitment. It was like a palm tree, waving in the wind but ultimately steadfast.

It wasn't that she didn't like him (whether or not she'd admit it—_Pathetic, Raven_, said a voice). She liked him. She wouldn't tease him the way she did if she didn't. She even loved him, for what she knew he was, really. She could have, if she was a normal girl—

But ultimately, the problem with—having something with him—was that he was not a creature of control. Even his powers showed it; his whole _thing _was consisting of inconsistency, being mutable, turning into different animals. And his emotional control was nil. Perhaps the problem was really that he was simply a good guy, no more, no less. And like so many good guys, it wasn't hard to imagine him doing bad things when he was hurt and dejected. What bad things? Nothing evil so much as inconsiderate, maybe even deeply inconsiderate; maybe he might break some other girl's heart, or build a wall around his own.

Robin was not a good guy. Robin was a dangerous guy. Robin was guarded. He was careful. He was controlled, and he was frightening when he let slip that control. He might do bad things, too, but not when he was hurt. Not in adversity. They would happen when they seemed necessary, and only then.

Or was all of that right? Maybe she was wrong, after all. It wouldn't be the first time. She, the demon, what would she know about it, anyway…? _The despair; it's part of your world; it must be accepted; your existence can't be one of denial; or else you will come to an even worse fate;_

The door to the ops room slid open, Beast Boy went in, she followed, and—

The lights went out—

And Beast Boy's voice yelled, "_Surprise!_" and she nearly jumped the hell out of her skin—

…The lights flickered back on. Beast Boy appeared to be the one reeling with surprise, with comically wide eyes and a loud "Huh?!" escaping him.

There was nothing unusual in the room at all, at first glance. Beast Boy's expression was turning indignant.

"Dudes!" he shouted. "I said _surprise!_ You guys are totally ruining this!" He looked at Raven. It was quite an experience to see the emotions crossing his face, let alone to feel them lapping against the edges of her consciousness.

"Sorry," he said, disgruntled. "Hold on. Just stay here." He stormed back into the kitchen. Raven had barely listened to him, occupied with her attempt to cope with his waves of emotions crashing down, her own panic and fear still swirling, and those faraway thoughts she had trudged into, and despite that, she followed him in, dimly realizing: he knew, _he knew _it was her birthday.

That was stirring panic in her heart. If he knew that, what else did he know? What was he trying to pull? Above all, how had he figured it out? Was it an elaborate trap, was this not the real Beast Boy, was it Trigon trying to lure her out—

In the back, only one light was on, a harsh fluorescent light that somehow seemed to bake the walls, make them look concrete instead of metal—or was it actually concrete? She had never noticed these rough patches before.

And Beast Boy was staring around, looking like he was ready to start hopping from one foot to another. "Guys?" he called. "Guys, this isn't funny!"

He turned around, scouring the whole room with his eyes, until he saw Raven in the doorway and jumped. "Hey! I said stay there!" He giggled nervously. "Um, I mean, surprise! No one's here!" And another nervous chuckle.

What was this? Had he really meant to throw her a surprise birthday party, and make it just for the two of them? No, probably not, but where was everyone else? They wouldn't stay away. Starfire in particular would have been waiting the whole day, she was sure.

His panic was feeding her own emotions, something she couldn't afford on this day of all days—it was just some failure of a surprise birthday party, she thought, anger seeping into her mind; he didn't need to make such a huge deal of it. And it was more than panic, she felt his humiliation hardening to anger—and she could _not_ afford to feel that now, either, Azarath, Metrion…

"I can't believe this!" Beast Boy let loose with some half-whine, half-curse. "I should've known—"

"You should've _known_ I wouldn't want this anyway, Beast Boy," she hissed. "I don't like surprises, I don't like parties, and I do _not_ like surprise parties!"

It was probably the wrong response, something told her, as his feeling of humiliation deepened. "So you're going to join in too?" he yelled. "Can't you see when someone's trying to be nice?!"

She rubbed her forehead. It felt hot. She deeply hoped it was just a headache.

"I don't have time for this," she said, as calmly as she could. "Thanks for the thought. Leave me alone."

She turned back towards her room, and he seemed indecisive about whether to follow her.

"Raven," he started.

She whirled on him again, making a cutting gesture at her throat. "_Alone!_" Propelling herself along the corridor magically, she left him in the distance and rounded the corner.

Everything was out of joint. Where _were_ the others, for that matter, for her surprise party? But it was for the best that they hadn't been there. She could barely handle feeling her own emotions now, and Beast Boy's, the other three—especially Starfire and all she'd been feeling lately—would have been far too much.

She needed air. She touched down again and climbed a staircase. It seemed shadowed. Why was the power so low? Probably Beast Boy dimming the Tower lights for "surprise". A few flights of stairs weren't such a bad thing. Going up stairs, without flying, was something to occupy her body, at least, make it less restless, burn out the adrenaline—whatever it was.

She opened the door and took a breath, emerged into the brisk air. It was never that cold in Jump City, but anything felt cool to her right now. The skyscrapers with their lights were blurry. Everything was still reality.

And then, she felt something. Someone.

She spun around.

"Got a message for you, kid."

And she felt her forehead burning—saw a matching symbol, the symbol of Scath, on his head—saw that insouciant body, that skull mask, and that red X.


End file.
